


Two for Flinching

by S J Smith (Evil_Little_Dog)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: cya_ficathon, F/M, Gen, Post Season 5, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/S%20J%20Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this for CYA_Ficathon as a backup for the following prompt:<br/>Characters/Pairings you want the story to focus in:<br/>Buffy/Spike<br/>Characters/Pairings you want in the story too: Giles<br/>and anyone else you want to include<br/>Things you want: set in Angel S5 ‘A Hole In The<br/>World’, Spike runs into Buffy while he and Angel are<br/>in London<br/>Things you don’t want: not too angsty<br/>Extras: whatever rating or genre you want</p><p>Disclaimer:  So not Joss Whedon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two for Flinching

“Good lord.”

That wasn’t the voice Spike expected. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected any voice, except maybe Peaches’, come to tell him it was time to go. Not that either of them really had a reason to go, except for that bloody office in L.A. “Rupert,” he said, his surprise dulled by the two and a half pints of Guinness already under his belt.

“I…we thought you were,” Giles hesitated, removing his glasses and cleaning them furiously. “Well.”

“Dead?” He grinned mirthlessly, swilling more beer. If he kept at it long enough, maybe he’d forget what happened in the past twenty-four hours. He swallowed and remembered Fred’s voice chirping at him. “Andrew Skywalker didn’ tell you different?”

Nope. That wasn’t gonna work.

“He said,” Giles was saying, his glasses firmly back in place. “Well, we didn’t believe him. Andrew is prone to, shall we say, exaggerations?” Spike snorted in agreement. “And Buffy said that you’d, ah,” his hand indicated something, Spike wasn’t quite sure what.

“Been burnt to a crisp? Yeah. Happened that way. Happened that bloody bauble of Angel’s was tied back to Wolfram and Hart, too. Soon as the package got back to the offices, I got,” he paused, hearing Fred’s voice again and drank quickly in an attempt to drown it out, “reintegrated.”

“Really,” Giles said, in his ‘fascinating’ tone of voice. Spike kept to himself, as he always did, that Giles reminded him of Spock when in his ‘Curious Watcher’ mode. Didn’t want anyone to know he’d watched Star Trek. Would completely destroy his standing in the demon community.

Hell. Like he had a standing in the demon community.

Worse, Andrew might’ve wanted to talk about Star Trek.

Hell. That’d be worse than the demon community finding out.

Soddin’ White Hats.

“Listen, Rupert,” Spike said, “I’m not here to answer a lotta questions. I didn’t even know you were in this town.” He threw back some more Guinness.

“Something’s happened,” Giles said, his voice a little distant. Or maybe it was the beer, finally starting to take the effect Spike wanted it to.

“Somethin’,” he huffed. “Lost a friend, s’all.”

“A…” The Watcher’s blue stare sharpened. “I don’t suppose.”

“Not the ponce. If he was gone, I’d do a dance on the ashes. No. A girl. Sweet thing. Reminds me of Red.” A pause, then more bitterly, “Reminded. Me of Red.”

Giles settled cautiously at the bar next to Spike, hooking one foot on the brass railing as he waved down the barkeep for a beer of his own. With a forced studiousness, he asked, “Buffy doesn’t know that you’re actually alive.”

His laugh was short and sharp, like a punch dagger. “Not that it’s any of you’re business, Rupert, but no.”

“Why not?” Giles asked then added, “not that I particularly care.”

Raising his head, Spike fixed the man with a dark stare. “Think you do care, Rupert. Care what happens to your li’l girl. Yer her ol’ man, ain’cha? Try an’ protect her from the big, bad world.” His fingers fluttered at Giles, a mockery of ghost stories. “But she’s got the darkness built right into her, our li’l Slayer.” He grinned like a skull. “It was jus’ waitin’ t’come out an’ I was there t’ ride the wave with her.” Thrusting his hips, making sure that Giles got exactly what he meant, Spike then leaned back against the railing, waving the barkeep for another Guinness.

“Be that as it may,” Giles said, his voice cold, “Buffy…cared for you.”

“An’ it rips yer heart out t’ say it, don’it?” Spike fished in his pocket for his cigarettes, thumping the carton on the bar to pack the tobacco tighter. He lipped the cigarette into his mouth and lit it, savoring the bite of nicotine.

“Giles?”

Her voice filtered through the Guinness. He almost turned away from the sound of it, the feeling that ripped through him like that flame had, devouring his flesh and bones. But he was made of sterner stuff than that and waited her out, hoping she wouldn’t notice the tremble of the fingers holding the cigarette.

“Spike?” Her opaline eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped, not a good look for her. But he noticed, as she stood there, frozen in place with shock, that her skin didn’t clench tight to the bone any more, that the worry was gone from her eyes. And then she moved, not like a predator nor like prey, just moved into his arms and held on tight.

He felt Giles pluck the cigarette from his nerveless fingers then the Watcher moved slightly away, giving them some privacy. He wasn’t sure he wanted it. Sure, pretty girl in his arms, one he loved – once loved? Still loved? – holding on so tight and then backing up just a little. “I can’t believe it,” Buffy said, the tips of her fingers grazing across his cheek. “You’re,” her voice gave out and she tightened her grip on him again, tight enough to bruise if he were human.

Oh, he could lose himself in this girl, he could, and he could remember nights; days when he’d done just that; when she’d lost herself in him. He inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent, familiar and light and so intrinsically Buffy. He wondered how he’d stayed away; why he’d stayed away, once there was no reason for him not to come to her.

A memory of sparkling brown eyes plagued the reunion and he shifted abruptly, breaking the Slayer’s hold on him. She stepped away, a little awkward at the sudden  
change in him. “So,” she said, clearing her throat and trying on a smile that didn’t quite seem to fit. “You’re,” her hand skimmed the air in front of him, “um. Do I say ‘alive’?”

“Nah,” Spike told her, “still not that.” He squashed down the idea of telling her it was a possibility, though; that a vampire with a soul would one day be alive and he was in the running for that. This was the Slayer, after all, and one of his last memories of her was her snogging Peaches wholeheartedly. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know which one of them she’d be rooting for.

“But you,” Buffy said, her delight hardening suddenly, oh, in that way he knew all too well and he half-raised an arm to block the punch he knew she’d throw. Her scowl deepened and he lowered that elbow. She whacked him twice, justlikethat, muttering, “Two for flinching.”

Rubbing his shoulder, he snapped, “Bloody hell, Slayer, didja hafta hit so hard?”

“You deserve it,” Buffy snapped right back. “I had to find out from Andrew – Andrew! – that you’re still alive!”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t s’posed to tell,” Spike muttered, realized and blocked the next swing.

“So you were just gonna sit in L.A., waiting for what, California to slide into the ocean before telling me?” Buffy asked, folding her arms and tossing her bangs out of her eyes.

He drank some of his Guinness. “Hell, no,” he said, setting the beer outside of Buffy-range, “wasn’t planning on telling you at all. Wait, hear me out,” he added, catching her wrist as her fist started for his ribcage.

“Start talking,” Buffy said tightly.

Spike sighed. This was really more Angel’s territory, not his. He’d been the one who’d left the Slayer before. “You,” he cupped his hands around her clenched one, “you deserve better than me. An’ I wanted to give you a chance to find that.”

Buffy tugged free, her laughter choppy and brittle. “I can’t believe it,” she said, the corner of her mouth tilted up in something other than a smile. “I just can’t believe it.” Shaking her head, she stared at Spike. “So, what is it, all the men in my life make decisions about our relationship – ours, not just theirs – without any decision from me?”

“Slayer,” Spike started but she went right on, even louder.

“Angel, Riley, even you, Spike? Every single one of you claimed to love me but none of you let me make any decisions on the way that’s played out.” She took a step nearer, her eyes flinty grey. “Well, I’m sick of it, Spike,” she said, her voice a low hiss of fury. “I’m tired of not being allowed to make any decisions in regards to when a relationship ends or how.”

“Listen, pet.”

Her finger jabbed into his chest. Spike knew if it had been a stake, he’d be ashes by now. “No, Spike, you listen. And you can share this with Angel, if you want.” She moved in even closer now, her breath fanning his mouth. Close enough, if he leaned just a fraction forward, he could kiss her.

Spike was almost afraid she’d bite his lips off if he tried.

“I don’t want anything from either of you, ever again. I’m sick of it, sick of vampires, sick of people making decisions without my input,” Buffy’s eyes were narrow slits as she said, “sick. Of. You.”

He opened his mouth to retort and stopped short. This is the way the game had to be played, wasn’t it. Meeting her gaze coolly, he reached for his Guinness without looking for it. Finding it, he brought it between them and up, forcing her to move or get smacked in the chin with the glass. Taking a drink, a long, slow swallow, he set the beer back onto the bar and ran the tip of his tongue around his lips, making sure they were clear of foam before he spoke.

“Yeah, well, can’t say it’s been a picnic on my end either, Slayer,” he said. “Knew it’d come to this eventually; just figured I’d give you an easy way out.” He nodded, watching her ire gleaming in her eyes. “See,” Spike said, leaning in close as if to impart some special wisdom, “I was right. Told you, back in that hole in the ground, that you didn’t love me.” He leaned back, slouching against the bar, his heel hooked on the brass railing. “Looks like I was right.”

Buffy retreated, almost looking as if she’d been slapped. Her face paled for a few seconds, then darkened as the blood rushed back in. Spike could hear the thunder of her blood rushing through her veins. As if in slow motion, he watched her hand come up, saw it descending towards his face. The impact sent him sprawling half across the bar. He clutched his cheek, panting, staring up at her.

Her voice like ice, Buffy said, “Now you’re right.” Spinning on her heel, she collected the old man with a glance and strode out of the pub. Giles barely glanced back at him as he followed the Slayer out the door.

Spike’s hand shook as he reached for his glass. He fisted his hand, nails digging into his palm. Breathing in, he exhaled in a rush, letting go of her scent, of the fury in her eyes. Letting go of the girl.

He reached for his glass, amending that thought.

Letting go of both the girls.


End file.
